“Mr. Wilde, put the gun down and we can talk. We can work this situation out. No one needs to get hurt,” I plead with him, hoping there is some way I can break through his alcohol-induced rage.
I hear a faint sound of sirens in the distance, my heart leaping at the hope that this will be over soon. Trevor’s dad must hear it too because he whips his head toward the front door, trying to see behind the bright glare of the sun shining in. So far, the coast is clear, but the seconds are dwindling as the sirens get louder.
“Who tha fuck are ya to call the police? Ya think they gonna save ya?” He screams, the gun raised at me, the barrel in my focus.
I see my life flash before my eyes, the day I met Avery the first thing in my mind, her lips wrapped around the pen, our first date in the park, the leaves all around us creating a beautiful backdrop. I think of our dance at prom and the first time she told me she loved me. The smell of lemons every time I sink my face into her hair, when I wake up and we are wrapped in each other, unable to tell where she ends and I begin. I feel her curves and the way those baby blues shine when I play her a new song, letting her feel the chords and how desperately I feel the lyrics in my voice.
I take a step forward as a loud bang goes off, the gun smoking and kicking back hard enough to knock him off balance. He drops to the ground, and for one impossible second, I wait for the pain to hit. I stand still and feelaround my body, expecting blood to be somewhere. Then I hear a gasp and something drops behind me.
I whip around and watch Avery crumple to the ground, the food scattered around her. The sirens outside pierce the air as they get louder, the sound setting every nerve on fire as I rush over to her and drop to my knees, the force of my fall sending sharp pains up my legs.
I reach over and grab her face in my hands, pain spread all over her face.
“Baby, baby, look at me.Look at me. What is it?”
I panic as I search her face for answers, then tear my eyes from hers and roam her body, searching for what happened, until I see a red splotch start to bloom on the right side of her upper chest.
“Oh my god!” I yell, pressing my hands to the wound.
The move makes her scream out, her eyes glassy and welling with tears.
“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. I have to put pressure on it,” I tell her, my brain working on overdrive as I try to rationalize what happened. How the bullet somehow hit her.
“I-it hu-rts,” she gasps out, one hand coming up to clutch my shirt, her knuckles white as she grips me like I’m her lifeline.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Help is almost here,” I stress. “Keep your eyes open for me, pretty girl. Keep those beautiful baby blues on me. You’re going to be okay, do you hear me?”
The sirens are deafening, the sounds of chaos starting up around me, rustling filling my ears.
“Sir, I’m going to need you to step back,” a voice says over me, grasping my shoulder to pull me away.
“No!” I yell, ripping out of their grasp and grabbingAvery’s face with both hands, keeping my eyes on hers, not wanting to look away for even a second.
“Sir, we need to help her, so we need you to step back and let us,” the voice says again.
I’m unable to tear my gaze away from hers. My vision blurs as I try to focus on her, wetness tracking down my cheeks as her eyes start to flutter.
“I can’t leave her,” I say, desperate and hoping they hear me.
“We need to help her, and we can’t do that if you won’t let us.” The person speaks softer now, holding onto my shoulder with one hand, grounding me to the moment.
I feel hands gripping me and pulling me away from her as I fight to get back to her side. The EMTs swarm her and start to work on her. I hear something about her blood pressure and a gunshot wound to the chest, a flurry of activity surrounding me. In the reception area, surrounded by cops, I see three officers haul Mr. Wilde out, him screaming unintelligibly at the top of his lungs, the gash the gun left dripping down his face as he’s hauled outside. The screaming stops at the close of the doors at his back.
Two officers hold me back as Avery is lifted onto a stretcher, and I fight against them to rush to her. I need to see that she is okay.
“Sir, you need to calm down so they can help her, and we need to get a statement,” one officer says as he grips my shoulders and forces me to stare at him.
“I’m going with her. I’m not leaving her alone,” I plead with the officer, unable to let her out of my sight for a second.
“Let him go,” another officer interrupts, releasing the first officer’s hands from me. I rush over to where they arewheeling her off into the ambulance parked across the front entryway. I look around at the dozen cop cars and the flashing lights. Mr. Wilde is being hauled into the back of a car, shoved inside, the door slammed on him as he screams. They lift the stretcher into the back and look at me, waiting for me to climb in, seeming to accept she isn’t going anywhere without me.
The back of the ambulance is a flurry, the EMTs checking her pulse and trying to keep her awake. Her eyes open and close, but no words make their way out.
“Is she okay?” I ask one of the EMTs, a young guy who looks no older than twenty-five, with deep brown hair and light stubble on his cheeks.
He looks at me, his eyes wary. “She’s stable. She’s mostly out from the pain, but we got to her in time,” he says, leveling with me. “We called ahead, and they’re ready for her. She’ll most likely go right to the OR when we get there. The bullet is still lodged somewhere in her,” he adds, and my stomach bottoms out, the fluorescent lights of the cab harsh on the gleaming surfaces. I grasp her hand tighter and try to keep her anchored to me.
Her hand is small in mine, still warm as I hold her, hoping that the tighter I grip her, the more I can keep her here with me.
